Wednesday, March 12, 2008

• Upon the Tragice Existence of

  Hotel Amenity Soap

   

  Oh little rectangluar

  rounded, yet angular

  bar.

  Your hue, uncertain,

  wavers

  between a sickened yellow,

  and stark white.

  Your package plain,

  but not without it's pride,

  boasts some name or other

  at which I am sure I am meant

  to be impressed.

  And yet, of which,

  I have never heard.

  You know your certain doom.

  That night, or day, or wekk,

  (when you are at last called,

  from your fellow soaps

  to do that thing for which you were made)

  will end with your disposal.

  This you know,

  and yet,

  you go on.

  Naive soap, what tragedy

  your ill-spent life presents.

  You perform your duty spotlessly,

  and yet,

  when all is said and done,

  you end.

  And as I gaze on your non-descript form

  squatting balefully

  in a puddle on my bathtub ledge,

  I am sorry

  for your loss.

   

  Lauren McKinney 2008 

    

  • 11:55 AM
  • 10 eprops
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